


Magic of (Christmas Cookie) Love

by Fire_Bear



Series: Walking in a Winter Wonderland [8]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Cookies, Crushes, Feelings Realization, High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 06:50:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13071414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: Francis knows exactly how bad of a cook Arthur is - which is why he's wary about eating the Christmas cookies Arthur gives him one day...





	Magic of (Christmas Cookie) Love

**Author's Note:**

> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zxOSzk0jqMU) seems appropriate...

Francis had been in Home Economics classes with Arthur for years. Somehow, Francis was always paired up with him, no matter which teacher they had. They'd had a rocky start but going through several hardships had formed a tentative bond of friendship. There was only one problem.

Arthur couldn't cook.

Every time he tried, something went wrong. Francis couldn't understand it; he helped Arthur painstakingly each time when in class and his mother watched over her kitchen when he tried at home. Even when he followed the recipe to the letter, Arthur seemed to be able to make a mess of their dish. Since Arthur needed to pass the class, Francis had been trying to tutor him, somewhat, in his own home but nothing seemed to make him any better.

The list of his disasters was extensive. He'd burnt pasta, the pot completely unusable afterwards. Eggs had exploded when he'd tried to boil them without water. Once, Arthur had mixed up the salt and sugar and created a sweet noodle dish. There had also been the time when the broth they'd been attempting to make had completely covered Francis when he'd leaned over it at the wrong time.

So Francis knew what it meant when Arthur thrust a plastic box into his chest: Arthur had been attempting to cook at home and had brought the mangled leftovers for Francis to inspect.

Sighing, Francis made to open it but was stopped as Arthur snapped at him. "Don't open it here!"

"Why not?"

"I don't want anyone to _see_."

"I'm just going to be putting in the bin," Francis informed him. "That's what I always do."

"You do _what_?!" exclaimed Arthur, quieting when Mrs. Hanover looked at him. "Do you even try them?" he murmured as she turned back to finish what she was writing on the board. More students trickled in, chatting to each other.

"Of course I don't – they all look like a health hazard. A weapon of mass destruction." Francis fixed Arthur with his gaze, expression gravely serious. "I would die if I took even a bite."

Arthur scowled at him. "Well, at least try these. It's Christmas after all; a little charity won't kill you."

"These?" asked Francis, confused. Had he made more than one thing? He didn't even want to know what it looked like inside the box.

"Yeah. I made Christmas cookies. I've never done anything like it before. Baking, I mean. I think they came out okay, but I'm not sure. Nobody at home has tried them, as far as I know, seeing as they were all busy yesterday."

"Wait, everyone?" asked Francis, paling considerably. "Not even your mother was in?"

"No. Mum was at some sort of bake sale. That's why I made them – this is what I managed with her leftover ingredients. Somehow, I managed to make way too many. Those ones are a little too thin, I think..." Arthur trailed off and looked down at his desk. "They don't look that good. Don't show anyone else, all right?"

Francis grimaced but Mrs. Hanover started the class before he could reply and, as Arthur had his last class across the building, he rushed off before Francis could try to give them back to him. With a shrug, he put them in his bag and hurried off to his own class.

It wasn't until his parents were in bed and he was just turning in for the night, fully kitted out in blue silk pyjamas, that he remembered them. He grimaced and retrieved them, fully intent on throwing them into the bin – and maybe throwing it out of the window, just in case. Maybe he'd have to call someone in to deal with hazardous waste.

Sitting on his bed, he opened the box. He had his eyes screwed up in preparation for the horrid smell which usually accompanied Arthur's creation; a mostly smoky, sickening thing which always turned Francis's stomach. However, nothing happened; he blinked and inhaled deeply, the sweet scent of chocolate and cookie reaching him. Eyes wide, he stared down at the box in his lap and gaped at the array of shaped cookies, each one of them recognisable as chocolate chip. A few of them had broken in transit but there were ones shaped like stockings, others like Santa and a few like Christmas trees. All of them had been decorated with white icing which, though not expertly done, was still better than Francis would have expected. Much better.

_This must be a fluke_ , Francis thought. _They probably taste just as rotten as his other creations._

To prove this theory, Francis steeled himself, took a breath, ignored the tantalising smell, grabbed a stocking-shaped cookie – and hesitated. Licking his lips, he took another breath. He would do this, he told himself. It was only fair – Arthur tried _his_ concoctions all the time. Swallowing nervously, he took another deep breath, closed his eyes and took a bite.

Sweet flavours rolled over his tongue as he chewed. The biscuit was the perfect consistency, soft but with a bite. Though the icing had an almost overpowering flavour of sugary sweetness, the chocolate came through. As did the taste of the cookie itself. Francis could hear a moaning sound and realised it was him – that was how good the cookie was.

He swallowed the mouthful down and had the cookie back in his mouth before he realised what he was doing. Stopping himself, he debated over what he thought of them. Surely this was a fluke? Maybe his mother had actually made them and Arthur was lying? But Arthur wouldn't do that and each cookie looked good. Absentmindedly, Francis took another bite: it was still just as delicious as before.

Francis couldn't deny that he loved the cookie.

Soon, he had no cookie left and he had to remind himself that he was supposed to be sleeping in order to stop himself eating another. Slowly, he replaced the lid and stared down at the box. He would have to tell Arthur how good the cookies were in the morning. Francis smiled as he imagined Arthur's face.

The shorter boy would blush and yell at him for toying with him. But Francis would inform him it wasn't a joke, that he truly loved the cookies. Then his blush would double in intensity and he would duck his head to hide his sweet smile. He'd look utterly adorable and Francis would-

At that point, Francis figured out where his train of thought was going and his eyes widened. His hand flew to his shocked mouth in order to hide his blush, despite no-one being around to see it. Had he really been thinking those things about Arthur? Sure, he'd noted how attractive Arthur was on his good days and he'd flirted a bit, but... 'Adorable'? 'Sweet'? Why would he so suddenly be thinking that-?

Wide eyes turned to the box of cookies. What sort of magic had Arthur put into them? If he was putting some sort of spell on them, did that mean that Arthur... _liked_ him as well? His heart seemed to flutter strangely in his chest and his breath caught when that occurred to him. But, if he was reacting like that, then...

Francis fell back onto his bed, hand covering his face as he let out a short bark of laughter. Now that he thought about the situation more, he was remembering a lot of instances where his feelings were evident. Like the time Arthur had stood up for Matthew, fierce and kind all at the same time, making Francis's heart thunder. At the time, he'd put it down to the excitement. Or the time Arthur had shown Francis how skilled he was with thread and needle during one part of their Home Economics class, how proud and delighted he'd looked, how Francis had felt himself swell with happiness for him. And what of the time when Arthur, dressed as a sexy demon for Halloween one year, had _flirted back_ , that devilish smirk on his lips as Francis had hid his disorientation with a laugh and a derisive comment?

Flustered, Francis grabbed his phone and sent a group text to Elizaveta, Gilbert, Antonio and Matthew, requesting their advice. _Help! I like Arthur!_ When he read it over, he winced: it was quite clear that he was panicking. Then, with a sigh, Francis got up to turn off the light and attempt to sleep. Instead, he stayed awake long into the night, pondering on his situation, trying to tell himself that he would get help from his friends.

That belief was shaken the next morning when he woke to several variations of: _I know._


End file.
